


Five Times Peter Parker Pretended to Be Asleep

by blondsak



Series: heart and nerve and sinew [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Protective Tony Stark, Some Humor, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark still owns the Tower because I say so, and the O6 Avengers are still a team, plus Sam because I love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-07 18:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18879205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: ...and the one time he actually was.Or: sometimes, faking sleep can work to your advantage. When it comes to trying to fool a certain genius, overprotective, superhero mentor, Peter finds this to be doubly true.





	1. Injury Fake Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Cinco Vezes em que Peter Parker Fingiu Estar Dormindo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480210) by [ImperfectBeliever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectBeliever/pseuds/ImperfectBeliever)



> Welcome to my first 5+1! I'm super excited to share this with y'all :)
> 
> I have each chapter outlined and half already finished, so expect updates every few days.
> 
> I'm blondsak on tumblr if you have one of those. Enjoy!

It'd been a very quiet night on patrol, all things considered. Peter had stopped a mugger, returned a stolen bike, and helped some tourists with directions, but otherwise he'd spent most of his time sitting on ledges, admiring the orange hue the glowing lights of New York City cast against the November sky. Now it's nearing his curfew, but he still has just enough time left for one more save - provided there's someone who needs saving.

“Got anything else for me, Karen?”

“There is a suspicious vehicle parked three blocks away, with four people inside.” 

“All right, Karen, let’s check it out!”

He's a block away when he hears a woman’s screams, and arrives just in time to see her pulled into the back of the black van by two large, muscular men. He follows as they speed away, but doesn’t engage; he doesn’t want them to crash and the woman or others to be injured. 

They drive all the way out to an abandoned grain warehouse in Brooklyn, and Peter waits until the two men in the front have exited and opened the back doors to let the other two men along with the woman - now tied up and blindfolded with her mouth covered - get out before he makes his presence known. 

"Hey guys! Did you all start the party without me?"

All four criminals look up just in time to see him quickly swing down, aiming a kick at the largest, who crashes over the vehicle's hood. He shoots webs at two of the men, sending them flying into the van's open back doors and then locks them in for good measure. A third runs toward the warehouse, dragging the woman with him, while the largest man has seemingly disappeared. Peter debates finding and capturing the renegade before helping to free the woman, but concern for her safety instead sends him after the man pulling her along, making quick work of webbing him to the building's rusty siding before moving to untie the woman’s restraints.

Her eyes are bloodshot as he pulls off the blindfold, and she looks at him in terror and confusion before a deep sob escapes her. 

Peter puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, I gotcha, ma’am.”

He doesn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes widen, but it takes him a beat too long to realize what it means. That is, until his senses go haywire, and the fourth man is suddenly upon them, aiming a punch at Peter’s left midsection.

“Run!” he screams at the lady, just in time to take a walloping hit to the side, feeling his left chest area cave a bit as his ribs crack, with a few loud _snaps_ most prominent.

 _He’s enhanced_ Peter has just barely enough time to think as the hit propels him into the air across a thirty-foot distance, smashing head-first into the side of the warehouse before landing in a pile of limbs.

Peter gets back up immediately only to list to the side from dizziness. He tries to clear his head, but the obvious signs of a concussion - nausea, ears ringing, disorientation - are all present and accounted for, and all he gets for his troubles is a measly groan. Despite the fog encompassing his mind, he stumbles back to his feet, trying to focus his sight in the direction he’d flown from. But the enhanced guy isn’t there any longer, and the moments it takes to get his jumbled brain in working order cost him.

“Over here, bug,” the man says right in his ear and Peter sends a feeble punch his way only for the dude to wrap a large, strong hand around his throat and lift him into the air.

“Peter, your vitals have fallen beyond acceptable parameters. Alerting Tony Stark,” Karen says cheerfully as blood rushes in his ears. He clutches desperately at the man’s arm with a puny grip, trying hard to kick at his legs and stomach. The concussion though has him feeling like his body and mind are two separate entities, and his attempts are far weaker than he knows he’s normally capable of.

He distantly hears two rings before - 

_“Peter? What’s going on? FRIDAY has your vitals up and-”_

Peter gurgles a bit, trying to talk even as he continues to be strangled. He can feel his face getting red while his mouth grows dry, not even able to swallow.

_“-Peter? Peter? Your O2 levels are plummeting - Kid?!”_

Peter can still hear Tony but it’s as if he is underwater. The sounds around him are dimming and his vision along with them. His limbs feel heavy and his kicks are slowly weakening to barely a twitch. He can feel unconsciousness starting to claim him. In front of him, the man’s brows furrow and his lips twist in a semblance of mock concern, and as Peter's eyelids droop he feels him squeeze his neck just a little tighter, shaking his light body like a limp fish.

He's about to let go, to give in... But then a voice cuts through the silence - 

_“Peter, you wake up right now and you fight, damnit! That's an order!”_

-and suddenly everything is loud again. Peter can hear traffic in the distance, can smell the rancid air of the man’s breath as he chuckles, holding the young spiderling in his grip. He opens his eyes and blinks, causing the mask to do so as well, and sees a look a brief look of confusion flash across the criminal’s face.

With the last bit of his strength, Peter grabs the man’s arm with both hands and arches his legs back only to swing them forward directly into the man’s solar plexus.

An _oof_ escapes the man’s lips as he abruptly lets go of Peter, who drops to the ground and takes two big gulps of precious air before aiming his web-shooters at the criminal - now laid out on the ground - and pinning him to the cracked pavement.

_“Peter? Jesus, Pete, answer me!”_

“I’m here,” Peter said softly with a croak, before more loudly calling, “Let’s see if you can get out of _that_ , Mr. Bad Guy!”

_“God, Peter, you can’t do that to me - I’m an old man, my heart isn’t built for this.”_

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, and even though he's preoccupied with trying to calm his racing heart and burning lungs, and he really does mean the apology. He doesn’t like to worry his mentor. “Any chance you’ve called the cops yet?”

_“I had FRIDAY send them a message as soon as I got the alert from Karen, kid. They should be there in a few minutes. I’m looking at the baby monitor footage from a bit ago too - is the woman all right?”_

“Yeah, but I think she’s long gone. She seemed scared but unharmed,” Peter says wearily, starting to trudge down a side alley beside the warehouse before sending up a strand of webbing and hauling himself into the air. He can't bite back a moan as the motion pulls on his injured ribs.

_”Kid, I know it’s almost your curfew, but you need to swing by the tower. Karen’s reporting damage to the left mid-flank of your suit, and she can’t get a complete injury assessment. I can see from the footage you took a damn good hit there.”_

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark, just some bruising and maybe a cracked rib,” Peter replies. He knows that it is in fact almost certainly worse than that, but it wasn't technically lying if he isn't absolutely positive, right? Plus he's really, _really_ tired, and wants nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep off both the hurt ribs and the concussion.

_“Kid, we both know you’re lying. You're going to come here pronto so I can take a-”_

“Almost home, Mr. Stark, I’ll be by tomorrow to drop off the suit for repairs, yeah?”

_“Don’t you dare hang up on me, you little-”_

“Karen, end call,” Peter says with a soft laugh. He feels sort of bad for making Mr. Stark panic and then hanging up on him, but he really was going to be fine after a night of rest.

\--

In hindsight, Peter definitely should have known better. 

“ _You_ don’t hang up on Tony Stark. Tony Stark hangs up on _you_ ,” the man had once grumbled to him when Colonel Rhodes had abruptly ended a call while they were down in the lab together, making crackly noises with his mouth before adding, _'Oh, oh, I’m breaking up Tones, gotta run!'_

He’d also been present when one week later the man himself had stormed in, pointing a finger at Tony and saying, “I don’t know how you did it, but I _know_ it was you, man.”

Tony had merely put his hands up in mock surrender and responded, “I have no idea what you’re referring to, my dear platypus, but all I can think to say is: nobody, I repeat, _nobody_ , hangs up on Tony Stark and gets away with it."

Peter never found out what Tony did to get back at Colonel Rhodes, but now he’s wishing he’d asked, because even from his bed he can hear the telltale sounds of Tony’s quick footsteps on the landing. And by the way they’re pounding, he can tell Tony is either very angry or very scared - maybe both.

He hears three sharp knocks on the door, and then May’s softer steps as she gets up from the couch to answer it. 

“Where is he?” Tony demands as he enters.

Peter can’t see May’s expression, but there's a clear tone of bemusement as she responds, “He’s in bed, Tony. What can I do for you?”

“The kid hung up on me when I told him to come to the tower. His suit is damaged and his AI couldn’t develop a complete injury report, and then the little twerp _hung up_ on me.”

“Well, I just saw him and he seems okay, if a little beat. Told me had a lingering concussion and hurt ribs. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have hid the bruising around his neck. But overall it didn't seem worse than a particularly bad night. Did he lie to you?”

“That’s the _problem_ , May, I don’t know! Because I couldn’t check for myself! And you know how he is, he downplays everything... too good for his own good.”

“Well, I assume that thingamajig in your hands is some sort of scanner, right? So why don’t you go check and see for yourself?”

“No, I can take your word for it, I just-”

“ _Tony_. You came all the way over when you could have just called. So for my peace of mind if not yours, go check on our boy, okay?”

There’s a few beats of silence then, before Peter hears a soft, “All right.” It's shortly followed by a mumbled "damn kid."

Quickly, Peter snuggles farther into his bed, closing his eyes and trying to even out his breaths just as the knob to his door slowly turns, a crack of light illuminating the room as Tony carefully enters. 

Peter had expected him to turn the lights on, demand Peter get out of bed and let him examine every small cut and nick, but Tony just stands there in the dim light instead. Peter hears a few beeps and assumes Tony is using whatever device he brought to scan him over. About ten seconds later, there’s an audible sigh of relief, and some tentative footsteps that come closer only to stop at the edge of the bed, inches from his head.

As the seconds go on, Peter fights every urge to open his eyes and see what his mentor is doing. 

_He can’t just be standing there, right? Whatever would he do that for?_

Peter’s curiosity is answered when he feels calloused fingertips tentatively caress his cheek, then move up to his temple, stroking around the curve of his ear.

The hand lingers, moving to the back of his head then, and the small weight of the palm is so comforting that Peter finds himself actually inching toward real sleep. After a minute or so, he foggily hears Tony’s voice whisper, “Sleep tight, kiddo,” before the hand is gone and soft footfalls retreat, the door slowly closing until he's enveloped in darkness once more.

By the time Tony is back on the landing, Peter is completely out, the memory of his mentor’s gentle words and touch fading away like the last wisps of a dream.


	2. Anger Fake Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, first - thank you for the very kind response to the first chapter! The kudos and comments blew me away. Reactions like that are what keep fanfic authors writing, and also gives us motivation to work harder to create even more awesome content for y'all. So THANK YOU <3
> 
> Second, a story note: even though this is a 5+1, it also has a larger, interconnected plot. So if things ever seem unresolved, please don't worry - they will be addressed. Just perhaps not in the chapter you're reading ; )
> 
> With that, here's chapter two!

The moment Peter crashes through his bedroom door at the tower, he heads straight for the bed, stuffing his face in his pillow and letting out a massive moan of frustration. 

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Parker?” FRIDAY asks. “Should I get Boss?”

“No, FRIDAY, definitely not,” Peter mumbles, turning his head to look out the window. It’s early December now, and only a grey stormy sky is there to greet him. “I’ve had enough of being yelled at by Mr. Stark for today, thanks.”

Unfortunately for Peter it’s as if simply saying his name is enough to summon the man, as only a few minutes later he hears a familiar heartbeat coming down the hall toward his room. Peter quickly gets under the covers, turning on his side in an imitation of sleep. 

Tony doesn’t even bother to knock, which just adds to Peter’s annoyance. Instead he opens the door and comes right in, plopping down with a long sigh on the side of the bed Peter is facing.

Normally Peter would make a quip at Tony just barging in like that, but at the moment he’s too pissed off to even acknowledge his mentor’s presence. Instead he stays completely still, focusing on keeping his breaths even. He knows it’s not his best work, but he doesn’t care.

 _Just leave - can’t you see I don’t want to talk?_ , Peter wants to say. But he doesn't - he's got a ruse ongoing.

Then Tony clears his throat pointedly, and it’s clear the jig is up. “I know you’re awake, kid.”

When Peter doesn’t move, valiantly trying to keep up the gambit, Tony lets out an annoyed hum. “FRIDAY, is the spider-baby asleep or just ignoring me?”

“Mr. Parker’s heart rate is currently 68 BPM, Boss. This would suggest he is not asleep but is in fact presently ignoring you.”

At this pronouncement it is Peter who groans. “Thanks a lot, FRI,” he calls out with no small amount of irritation, then pulls his bed covers over his head without opening his eyes. “I don't want to talk right now, Mr. Stark. Can you please just leave?”

“Look, kid. Peter,” Tony says, then pauses, considering his words. “I’m sorry for losing it on you just now in front of everyone. It wasn’t the best way to handle things, I’ll admit. But either we do this right now or we do this first thing tomorrow, because we _are_ talking about this, kiddo.”

At that Peter pulls the covers back down, sitting up and fixing Tony with his sharpest scowl. “I just don’t get why you’re so _mad_ -”

“Hm, I wonder why I might be mad,” Tony says lightly, but Peter hears the current of frustration underneath. His chin juts out as he continues, “Maybe, just maybe, because a certain spiderling didn’t listen to my _direct order_ to stay on civilian patrol and not get involved in the fight despite the _very explicit_ ground rules I gave him? Or maybe because he clearly thinks that just because Captain America let him go on a mission with the Avengers, that means he no longer has to listen to his mentor who is only trying to make sure he lives long enough to buy a beer using his real ID? Or maybe it’s because-”

“The giant Godzilla monster was going to _crush_ you!” Peter interrupts, and he can feel his heart pounding harder. He clenches his fists, trying to calm himself. “Everyone else was stuck dealing with the Shelob-looking one or busy closing the portal. What did you expect me to do, just watch?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony replies instantly, pointing a finger at him. “Yes, in fact I did. Because that’s what I damn well _told_ you to do. I had it handled.”

“Ha, right,” Peter drawls with no small hint of sarcasm, dramatically rolling his eyes for effect. “From where I was perched, it sure didn’t look that way. You hadn’t even gotten half-up from the ground when it lifted its leg up over your head. If I hadn’t swung in and distracted it, you - you could have been...”

Tony lets out another long sigh, wiping a hand over his face, then moving it to clutch at his left bicep, a tell he’s feeling stressed. “Kid, I know you worry about me. And I’m not going to tell you that’s wrong. I live in a glass house when it comes to keeping myself out of trouble, especially when someone I care about is in danger.” He leans over, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “But you’ve got to understand, Pete. It’s my job to keep you safe, not the other way around. You’re my responsibility, and I promised your aunt I'd make sure you come home safe every night. And damn it, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to keep that promise. But I can’t do that if you don’t _listen to me_.”

The last three words are clearly meant to end any further protestations, and Tony’s grasp on his shoulder tightens as he emphasizes them. But the gesture only serves to makes Peter feel trapped - _infantilized_ \- and he shakes off the grip, fixing Tony with a glare. “Yeah, well, did you ever think of how I'd feel if something happens to you and I could have stopped it? How awful I'd feel if I let you down like that? Did you ever think of _that_?”

Tony’s jaw clenches. “Peter, I know you’re strong and I know you can fight. You don’t have to prove yourself to me-”

“This isn’t about me proving myself to you!” Peter yells before he can contain himself. He's shaking now, any semblance of control lost. “I did that already when I saved all your tech from Mr. Toomes! I did that when I pushed a building off of myself to stop him! I didn’t even have the suit and I did all that! _This isn’t about that!_ ”

Tony just stares, brows raised and eyes wide, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Peter hasn’t had the guts or the desire to yell at the man since after the ferry incident, right before Tony had revealed himself to be inside the Iron Man suit. His mentor’s sudden presence then had cowed him into immediate submission, but Peter realizes now the days of him being dumbstruck simply by Tony Stark’s presence are gone. Had probably been so for a while. 

“This isn’t about any of that,” Peter says again, his voice softer now but no less forceful. “This is about you _trusting_ me. Not just caring about me or looking out for me, but actually trusting me to have your back. Because you know what happened today, from my point of view? I saw you were in danger - the _dying_ kind of danger - and I saw a way to prevent that without anyone getting hurt. So I went for it, and I was right - it was fine! So why can’t you just trust me?”

At Peter’s question, Tony looks down to the floor while one hand fumbles at a pocket, pulling out a pair of sunglasses. It’s another tell from him, Peter knows, but one less of stress and more of feeling attacked. Defenseless.

Once the sunglasses are situated, Tony turns back and faces him squarely, arms crossed. “And what if it’s you?”

Peter’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “What if what's me?”

“What if it’s you who was going to get hurt?” Tony asks, voice sharp. “Would you still do it? Put yourself directly in harm's way to save me?”

And Peter wants to lie, because he knows the truth is only going to hurt his case in Tony’s eyes. Because despite the glasses and confident posture, Peter also knows that beneath it all Tony is scared. He’s scared because he already knows the truth; he just wants Peter to admit it.

No point in lying, Peter reasons. “Even if I knew for sure I’d get hurt, I’d still protect you. Just like you would for me.”

Tony nods once, solemnly. “Good on you for being honest with me about that. But that's also why I can’t fully trust you, Pete. Because while I have every confidence you’ll always have my back, I don’t trust you to have your own at the same time. And you can be mad at me all you want, but for now I’m the adult and you’re the kid. You getting hurt or god forbid, _killed_ because of me is not something I’m willing to live with.” Tony stands up then, turning toward the door and taking a few steps before twisting back, fixing Peter with a stern expression. “No more Avengers missions until I say so. And no patrolling for two weeks.”

“ _Two weeks?_ ” Peter cries, his earlier fury returning with a vengeance. “But that’s completely unfair!”

“Life’s unfair, kid. Get used to it.”

“But you’re not May! You can’t - you can’t just do that,” Peter sputters, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. “ _You’re not my dad!_ ”

Tony’s jaw drops a bit at that, clearly shocked at the vehemence Peter is aiming toward him. Or maybe it's hurt? 

Peter’s too lost in feelings of indignation to bother figuring it out right now. His eyes pool with tears at the injustice of it all, and he hastily wipes at them with his arm, looking away. “You’re not my dad,” he repeats, biting his lip hard in an effort to keep his composure.

Tony takes a step forward back toward the bed, then another, holding out his hand as if to offer comfort. But Peter flings himself back down with a groan that comes out more like a half-sob, pulling the comforter once more over his head. What had started as a great day had turned to complete and utter shit, and he doesn’t want Tony to see him crying like a baby when he’s not even hurt on top of it all.

He goes back to focusing on his breaths, trying to make sure his chest doesn’t hitch. Even with his face covered, he knows Tony will be able to tell if he starts crying. For a few moments they’re suspended in a tense silence, as Peter waits for Tony to leave. 

“I know I’m not your dad, Pete," Tony finally says, his voice quiet and resigned. "But I’m not giving in. Two weeks, no patrols.” Another long-suffering sigh then. “You’ll understand when you have a k-” A hitch, then a beat. “When it’s your job to look after a fresh-faced superhero someday.”

Tony walks to the doorway before pausing, and Peter knows he’s waiting for a response, maybe even for Peter to take back what he said. But Peter can’t - _won’t_ \- grant him the satisfaction. Even though everything in him is screaming to fix this distance between them, he just can't - not yet. Not when his mentor is punishing him for doing the right thing - for doing _exactly_ what he would have done.

It's like a crack of lightning, the moment Tony gives up.

“Get some rest,” he gently whispers before wandering out, softly closing the bedroom door behind him.

It takes hours of watching a blizzard rage out his window before Peter finally falls into a fitful sleep, nightmares plagued with visions of blood-covered hands and fallen heroes.


	3. Fear Fake Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and kind comments in the last chapter <3

**Now**

Peter is back on his bed at the tower for the first time in over a week, curled once more on his right side. The heavy bandaging covering his left temple all the way to past his ear won’t stop itching, but he doesn’t move to scratch at it. Ned keeps texting him, but he barely even glances at his phone. He just stares out the window listlessly, the grey light of a winter day having shifted over to a cool, crisp darkness hours ago. 

Unlike the week before, he’s all alone. Not even his anger is left to keep him company, just emptiness. 

And Tony… Tony is…

Peter hears voices coming down the hall then, distantly recognizing them to be Steve and Natasha. He doesn’t bother closing his eyes, his face already turned away from the door. There’s a quiet knock.

“Peter?” Steve softly asks, knowing he would have no trouble hearing the man. “You awake?”

Peter doesn’t answer or move. He’s not sure he could even if he wanted to. Because he knows if he does, then he might have to face what happened.

So, no. He won’t answer. He’ll stay right here, in this place of ignorance and oblivion. In this place where Tony could be just beyond that door, healthy and _safe_.

In this place where Peter can pretend he’s not hurt or even worse, all because of him.

“Should we wake him up?” Steve whispers.

“No,” Natasha answers decisively in a low tone, clear even through the door. “It won’t change anything, and besides, you saw how he was when he arrived with Happy. The poor kid probably needs rest more than anything else.”

Steve must nod at that, because their footsteps retreat back the way they came and Peter is again left alone, wishing more than anything that Tony was there… Tony, who…

He closes his eyes now, trying to will the images away. But he can’t, and the memories play unbidden.

 

**Six Hours Earlier**

It had just been a regular school day, but _Star Wars: The Last Jedi_ had only come out less than a week before. Peter and Ned had already seen it twice, but Wednesdays were Discount Day at their local theater, so as soon as the last bell rang they set out.

It had been eleven days since Tony had grounded Peter from patrols, and in that time they’d hardly exchanged a word. Peter had begged off coming over for their regular dinner and lab nights, citing the need to study for the slew of upcoming pre-holiday break tests. It was kind of true - he _did_ need to study - but also sort of not true because he could have made the time if he wanted to. Would have, under other circumstances.

Tony for his part had been polite but equally distant in his replies, texting back things like “No problem, Pete” and “Study hard, kid” but never adding more, seemingly giving Peter his space.

 _Or maybe he’s mad. Maybe he regrets ever taking me under his wing_ , Peter couldn’t help but think. He didn’t want to believe it was true but after the way Peter had yelled at him, he wouldn’t blame the man.

If thing were normal between them it wouldn’t have even been a question, but right now things were definitely _not_ normal, and he wasn’t ready to face his mentor. Not being able to patrol was still a daily frustration, and his anger hadn’t yet mellowed out to the point where he felt comfortable moving past their fight. 

Peter felt his irritation coming to the surface again, and kicked a rock, trying to let out some of the pent-up emotions. Why couldn’t Mr. Stark understand he was a hero too? That it was just as much his job to keep the people he cared about safe as it was Tony’s to watch out for him? That he was only doing what-

“Earth to Peter.”

“Wha-what?” Peter said, looking over to Ned, who was eyeing him curiously.

“I asked if you wanted to stop at the bodega up ahead for movie snacks.”

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Peter said, doing his best to put away thoughts of the argument for now. He was with his best friend, they were about to see the newest Star Wars film for the third time, so life was good, right?

The bell on the bodega door chimed as they walked in. The place was empty but for the owner, who barely glanced up from his phone as they wandered over to the candy aisle. Peter grabbed a Snickers and Milky Way, Ned his usual Twizzlers.

Ned turned and handed him a few dollars along with his candy. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading in the direction of the restroom. Peter nodded, taking everything up to the register. He was just setting it down, the owner adding up the total, when he felt the now-familiar buzz in his head, stronger than almost ever before, positively screaming at him - 

_DANGERDANGERDANGER_

\- knowing he only had seconds, Peter didn’t hesitate to pull out his phone and open his texts to alert Tony. But unlike usual, Tony wasn’t at the top - a message earlier that day from Ned was. In a split second decision, Peter started typing out a message - 

_Smthng wrong txt hap_

-and pressed send just as the bell chimed again and in walked a man and a woman. Both were covered head to toe in black, wearing ski masks and each carrying a gun.

“Get down!” the man yelled at him, motioning to the floor. Peter got down on his knees, putting his hands behind his back. The man kept pointing his gun at him even as he looked around, checking for any other customers. The woman was screaming at the owner to open the register and put all the cash in a bag she was holding out. 

Peter tried to keep an eye on them both without being too obvious.

“Stay there and don’t move!” the man yelled again at him, then started making his way down the aisle, glancing back at Peter every few seconds.

Peter’s eyes widened as he realized where the man was headed - the bathroom where Ned was. But what could he do? He didn’t have his suit - he was just Peter right now, not Spider-Man - 

_You’re still a hero, Parker, so act like it!_

In a split second decision, he jumped up. He didn’t have a plan but he knew no matter what, he needed to keep Ned safe, so he flung himself down the aisle toward the masked man. Just as he was about to land on top of him, the man’s gun went off and Peter’s head exploded in a bursting firework of pain.

It was like lightning had struck his left temple and blossomed outward around the side of his head. White light burst behind Peter’s eyes, as he distantly hears the sound of thrusters landing. But it's too little too late, and Peter was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

\--

The first thing Peter was aware of were hands on his face, slowly moving his head to the side gently.

“Peter, c’mon kid, wake up, that’s it, good, c’mon kiddo-”

The movement hurt, and Peter groaned, weakly trying to push the offending hands away.

“Open your eyes, Pete, c’mon kid.”

Peter slowly opened his eyes to find Tony crouched over him, an encouraging smile on his face. He carefully turned Peter’s head to the side again, and Peter saw an Iron Man suit standing in sentry mode nearby, its gaze trained on the male robber, who was sprawled out on the ground unmoving.

Peter twisted his neck back to face Mr. Stark, and that’s when he noticed the man had a streak of blood across his face.

“Y’r bleed’n,” he said, and Mr. Stark’s eyebrows furrowed before realization dawned.

“Not my blood, kid, yours. All thanks to that asshole over there,” he said, nodding to the unconscious criminal. “A few millimeters to the left and you could have died.”

The words were spoken lightly but the dark expression on Mr. Stark’s face suggested he felt anything but casual about the idea.

“Juss’a graze, Mis’r St’rk,” Peter tried to reassure, careful not to show in his expression just how much that side of his skull was throbbing. He could feel hot, sticky blood smudged in his hair and moving in rivulets down his neck, staining his t-shirt. “M’sure t’red of head wounds, though.”

The joke had its intended effect, as the somber look on Tony’s face gave way to a slight chuckle of relief. “I’m pretty tired of you getting them too, kiddo. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Tony carefully helped Peter stand up. The change in position had Peter’s head swimming even worse than before, but Tony kept a good grip on his arm as they slowly made their way back down the aisle. The suit moved ahead of them and toward the door.

Then, Peter remembered - “Ned! Is he-”

“He’s fine,” Tony interrupted. “Told him to run out of here and wait for the cops. Can already hear their sirens now - they should be here any minute.”

Now that he was listening, Peter could hear them too, but only distantly. If Tony could also hear them, the bullet graze must have done more of a number on him than he realized.

“A-and the owner? And the bad lady?”

Tony paused, turning to Peter then. “Who?”

Before Peter could explain, the woman and bodega owner rose together from behind the counter. The woman had one hand over the owner’s mouth - using the old man as a human shield to guard from the suit - and with the other hand she pointed a gun at Tony’s chest.

Peter’s spidey sense suddenly ricocheted from the woman to a presence behind him, and he instinctively did a 180 only to find the bad guy is now awake, gun pointed directly at Peter.

 _This is so, so bad_ , Peter thought, looking to Tony who he was now shoulder-to-shoulder with, if facing opposite threats. But Tony’s eyes weren’t on him, they were on the suit, which appeared to be waiting for a command. Tony eyes glanced over to Peter, and the guilty expression on his face told the teen everything he didn't want to know.

 _No, not for me_ , Peter thought, and it must have been clear in his eyes because he saw Tony’s mouth twist into a tiny smile of reassurance.

_Always for you._

Tony and Peter were still having their silent conversation when the woman screamed, “Shoot him, Rick!”

Everything that happened next only takes a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to Peter.

The man and woman pulled their triggers at almost the same time, but the suit was already moving. With no small amount of grace it fully covered Peter, the bullets meant for him pinging off the gold-titanium alloy effortlessly. The suit then lifted its arms, shooting repulsor beams at the woman and man simultaneously, both of whom went down and didn't get back up. The bodega owner - having been silent since the criminals first came in - let out a yelp, then jumped over the counter and ran out the door.

The sirens sounded much closer now, but everything inside the bodega had gone silent. That is, until-

_“Shit.”_

At the exclamation Peter twisted out from behind the suit only to see Tony sprawled out on the ground with his eyes scrunched in agony. His fingers were poking at a bullet wound deep in his abdomen, blood already spreading in a wave around him. 

“Nonono,” Peter whispered, and for a moment all he saw was a different bodega and another one of his father figures laid out on the floor, bleeding out.

_No time, no time - do something, Parker!_

He knelt down, immediately putting pressure on the wound. But the blood rose up and over his fingers, creating a small pool that covered his hands. 

“ _Help!_ Help me!” he screamed toward the door, but there was no answering chime.

“P-peter-”

He turned to look back at Tony, who was trying to raise his head up, his eyes flitting over every part of Peter within his limited vantage point. 

“Pete?”

Peter knew what he was asking. “I’m okay, Mr. Stark, he didn’t get me.”

Tony’s head dropped back to the floor at that, the relief in his eyes clear even when crinkled in obvious pain. As if those words were some sort of permission, his eyelids began to drift close.

“ _No_ , Mr. Stark, you need to stay awake,” Peter ordered, and Tony’s eyes slowly slit open again, looking at him with fondness. His face was pale and sweaty, breaths coming rapidly now. The expression he wore was one of glassy calm, black pupils nearly overtaking his irises, and Peter could tell he was going into shock.

Tony raised an arm just enough to pat one of Peter’s knees, leaving a red handprint on his jeans. “S’okay, kid.”

Then his arm fell limp, eyes closing again, and this time they didn't open no matter how many times Peter desperately called for him. Minutes later - or maybe just seconds, Peter didn't know - a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him up and away from Tony.

“No! No, let me go!” he cried, only to realize the hands belonged to a paramedic. The medic led him toward the door, Peter twisting his head to watch the other three crowd around his fallen mentor. “Mr. S-stark….”

 

**Now**

Peter takes a deep breath, still lost in his memories. Things had gotten kind of fuzzy once the ambulance and cops had arrived. He knew that Tony had been taken directly to the tower and immediately whisked away to surgery. Peter hadn’t gotten there until twenty minutes later with Happy, his head now bandaged up, feeling frantic and weak. 

Happy had plopped him down into a medbay chair and then promptly made a beeline for where Nat, Steve and Pepper stood in a far corner, their conversation quiet but tense. Peter had waited there, doing nothing but stare the wall until May had rushed in, pulling him into a half-hug he fell into gratefully. He'd felt something break inside him when she finally pulled away, and a silent conversation between all the adults must have occurred shortly thereafter as he sat with his head in his hands, trying to keep his sobbing quiet. He barely remembered being guided out toward the elevators by May, the others watching him go with concern. Peter didn't protest or resist as they made their way to his bedroom, yet he found himself still begging in his mind to go back.

_I have to see Mr. Stark. I have to apologize. Please, Aunt May. Please._

_I have to see him._

May had only wrapped her arm around him in the face of his silent pleas, pushing him toward the bed until he was sitting down. She disappeared into the bathroom, coming out with a washcloth and gently wiping it over his face, the cloth coming back brown with dried blood. He hadn’t even noticed how bloody his hands were, but now all he could do was stare at them as May gently cleaned them off too along with his neck, coaxing him out of his bloody shirt and offering him a clean one.

Only once she’d deposited the dirty cloth and shirt in a trash basket did she speak, telling him that Tony was in surgery and would be for hours, and in the meantime Peter needed to rest. She asked if Peter wanted her to stay, and he shook his head. 

Wordlessly she pulled back the covers and he climbed in, then with a soft kiss to the forehead and caress of his cheek, she left him alone. 

Peter had hardly moved in the hours since, his body and mind seemingly unwilling. Because maybe, just maybe if he never got up, then he’d never have to hear Tony didn't make it off the operating table. Maybe if he just lets them think he’s sleeping forever, they'll never tell him Tony was dead.

Never tell him that Peter would never get to apologize, to make things right.

_I’m sorry for what I said. You ARE like a dad to me._

_Please, please don't die. Please, Tony, don't die._

_I’m so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

The words play on an endless loop in Peter’s head until everything else has fallen away, and he’s lost to the dark.

\--

Peter wakes up to Pepper leaning over him, a soft smile on her face illuminated by the early morning sun, fingertips tenderly pushing his curls off his forehead. “He’s awake, and he’s asking for you.”

Peter’s never leapt off a bed quicker.

But it wasn’t until he barged through the door to Tony’s recovery room that Peter finally felt the tension he’d been holding in his body since he entered the bodega truly dissipate.

Tony is covered by a blanket and propped up by two pillows. Peter can see a few IVs and other lines running between him and various machines, and there’s a large bulge around his left stomach area, indicating a thick swath of bandages underneath the covers. He looks utterly exhausted, the fluorescent lighting of the medbay doing the dark bags under his eyes no favors.

But he’s _alive_ , which is more than Peter thought possible only a few short hours ago.

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Peter says, the name coming out almost like a plea. 

Tony lifts up an arm. “C’mere, kiddo.”

Peter doesn’t waste any time walking the few steps over and slotting into the embrace, mindful of all the wires and Tony’s injury. Tony kisses the top of his head, then rests his chin in the same spot. “How are you feeling? How’s your head?”

“Better now,” Peter replies honestly. He feels tears forming and swallows hard, trying to keep them at bay. He lifts himself just enough out of Tony’s arms so he can see his face. “Mr. Stark, I am so sor-”

“ _Nuh-uh-uh_ ,” Tony immediately interrupts, pulling him back into the embrace again, his arm tightening. “No apologies, kiddo. This wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry about what I said when we-”

“Not your fault either, Peter,” Tony stops him once more, having none of it. “I’m the one who should apologize. You were just doing what you always do when you see someone you can save. And even though part of me hates that you're not afraid to rush into danger to help someone, I also need to accept - _really_ accept - that it’s who you are. Because it’s not fair of me to ask you to be someone you’re not.”

Peter feels a tear escape, and shuts his eyes even tighter. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he whispers, voice thick.

Tony nods into his hair in silent reply before going on. “But I need you to understand, Pete, that’s never going to stop me from trying to protect you. Because that’s who I am. I’m always going to put you first, kid. And if it means I get overprotective now and again, well… I don’t know if I can stop being that either. Not where it concerns you.”

Peter nods against Tony’s neck and shoulder. “I understand. I mean, I hate that you do it too and would rather you didn’t put yourself in danger for me ever again… but I guess at least I can relate.”

Tony chuckles, the sound vibrating comfortingly against Peter’s chest and soothing his nerves. He kisses Peter’s head again, lifting his lips just far above his curls to say, “Aren’t we just a pair, eh?”

Peter laughs, the last of yesterday’s stress flowing out of him with it. Sure, they both almost died, but at least they’re back to _normal_ again.

“We really are, Mr. Stark. We really are.”


	4. Frigid Fake Out

Much as Tony and the other Avengers love to tease him, Peter doesn’t _actually_ hibernate during the winter. However, that doesn’t mean his spider DNA doesn’t do its best to mess with him when it starts getting chilly.

So no, he didn’t hibernate. He just felt constantly cold and exhausted, sometimes to the point of collapse. It had begun in late November, once the temps started to dip close to freezing at night, with Dr. Cho hypothesizing it would last until early March. Which meant that for going on three months now, Peter found himself nodding off in class, wearing triple the layers, and generally just feeling like roadkill if he didn’t get at least 12-13 hours of sleep every night. 

May buys two space heaters for his bedroom, but even then Peter can’t seem to stop adding blanket upon blanket to his bed. Tony, for his part, leaves extra throws and pillows on all the tower couches, even going so far as to install a Murphy bed in the lab. As if that wasn't enough, he’s constantly bombarded with questions as to his sleeping habits if he so much as yawns in the presence of any of the Avengers. Peter would feel annoyed by all the attention and coddling if he wasn’t so tired all the time, but as it is, he just can’t muster the energy to care. He mostly just wishes his spider instincts would at least allow him to make it to his bed before he passed out, but even that is too much to ask sometimes.

“You allow yourself to nest anywhere in the tower because it’s where you feel safest,” Natasha says knowingly at communal dinner one night shortly after Peter emerged from a pile of unfolded laundry and surprised Bruce, practically scaring the Hulk out of him.

Peter sees Tony rolls his eyes at Natasha’s comment, but it’s clear nobody at the table misses the implication. _You nest here because Tony makes you feel safe._

Embarrassing truths aside, the absolute worst part of it all is that he isn’t allowed to patrol as long or as often as usual, a fact he positively despises. Though when he voices that thought to Tony, the man merely replies, “Just be glad I put that heater in your suit, kid. Without it, you wouldn’t be allowed to patrol at all until I say otherwise or until it’s July, whichever comes first.”

Peter had griped about his mentor’s overprotectiveness at the time, but making his way back to the tower for movie night during a particularly cold February evening, he can’t help but agree that he is absolutely, definitely, _totally_ grateful for his heater. Because without it, he’d have probably passed out on a roof hours ago.

The thought couldn’t be more timely, as just then he swings down between buildings only to run right smack into a giant-ass pigeon. 

_“Oi!”_ Peter cries as the bird squawks, slamming directly into the center of his chest. In his shock he lets go of his webbing, weightless for a second before suddenly plunging down toward the ground. Frantically he shoots a web to the side of the building closest, and barely manages to land on his feet in an alley, panting from the surprise encounter and sudden change in altitude.

“Peter, I’m afraid that your fight with the landfowl just now has damaged your suit,” Karen announces with her usual chipperness.

“Yeah, but at least I won. Take that, dirty pigeon,” Peter replies, still catching his breath. 

“I am unsure if the landfowl was harmed, whereas the suit’s heater is currently not working. This would suggest that the fowl in fact-”

“Okay, Karen, I get it. You said the heater is broken?”

“Yes, Peter.”

Now that she mentions it, Peter feels a chill start to spread throughout him, the stored heat already dissipating fast. As if on cue, a shiver runs through him. “Karen, how far are we from the tower if I swing there?”

“My calculations predict it would take you seven and a half minutes to swing to the tower from your current location.”

Peter knows it’s a risk - it is _very_ cold tonight - but he can manage eight or so minutes, can’t he? He shoots a web up and pulls. “All right, let’s go!”

Everything is fine until he’s about three minutes out. He could feel his body growing more lethargic, the cold wind an incessant menace as he flies through the air, but he stubbornly swings on.

However, it soon becomes too much, his head getting heavy and his body going numb. He quickly switches his trajectory and aims for a dark alley, worried about passing out mid-flight and landing on a car or worse, a person. 

He immediately sits down as soon as he lands, his thoughts now fuzzy as he looks around between slow blinks. The alley is empty but for a dumpster, a large pile of flattened cardboard resting against it. Distantly Peter recognizes he only has moments before he passes out, and without thinking forces himself to stumble over to the dumpster. With his last remaining strength, he heaves the pile of cardboard into it and then jumps in after, his spider instinct focused only on creating a warm, safe place to rest. The last thing he remembers is burrowing in between the cardboard folds before he’s lost to slumber.

\--

Peter wakes up to metal arms wrapping underneath his shoulders and knees. He mewls at the movement, weakly pawing at the arms of whoever is holding him. 

“Only you would fall asleep in a dumpster, kiddo,” a deep, safe voice he recognizes but can’t quite place says. “FRIDAY, increase the external shield temp settings to 85 degrees. I don’t want the kid getting even a tenth of a degree colder on the way back.”

He turns his head away from the sound, eyes still closed, and he starts to fall back into the quiet, welcoming dark. But his efforts are thwarted when there’s a _whoosh_ sound followed by a second set of footsteps.

“Damn, Stark, maybe next time say more than ‘the kid’s down’ before taking a running leap off the balcony and leaving your whole team behind to worry, yeah?”

“Hey Sam. Yeah, sorry about that, I got the alert and uh, maybe overreacted.”

“No worries, man, we all get it… is Pete all right?”

“His core temp is down about four degrees but it should bounce right back once we get him home and wrapped up. Clint better not have been joking about his blanket burrito skills.”

“I thought the kid had a heater in his suit?”

“His AI said the heater broke on the way back, something about a pigeon attack. Guessing he needed a safe place to sleep, and then his spidey-brain saw the dumpster and, well, here we are.”

“A pigeon attack? Now _that’s_ footage I have to see.”

The person holding him hums an agreement. Peter feels himself being carried now, a warm metal hand pressing against his cheek. He nuzzles into it, a small purring sound escaping him. Without thinking, he adjusts to wrap his legs around the person’s waist and his arms settle around their neck, seeking out more of the comforting warmth.

“Whoa, kiddo…”

Whoever’s holding him seems a bit startled by the change in position but doesn’t hesitate to wrap their arms tight around him, the same warm hand coming up to rest against the back of his head protectively. Peter purrs again, continuing to drift along the line between awareness and sleep, his mind hearing everything but retaining nothing.

There’s a small chuckle from the second voice then. “Hold still, I need to get a photo of this for the sleepy spider-baby group chat.” There’s the quick light of a flash, then, “Oh, May’s going to _love_ that. That’s positively frame worthy.”

“Har har, birdbrain.”

“Seriously though, you weren’t kidding about his powers screwing him over with this behavioral thermoregulation stuff, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. And every time he goes out to patrol right now I worry that something exactly like this will happen.” There’s a long huff then. “Damn it, he should have known better - he should have _called_ me. If he’d passed out while still swinging…”

“I’m sure he would have called if he had really thought he couldn’t make it, Tony. All evidence to the contrary, I don’t think the kid ever means to make you panic.”

The hand at the back of Peter’s head tightens, somehow still tender despite the steel grip. “It doesn’t seem to matter what I do to protect him, something always goes wrong.”

“It’s not your fault, man. You’ve said it yourself, the kid’s practically got a sign on his back that says ‘Kick me, Danger.’ We all know you do your best to watch out for him. He’d be dead meat ten times over by now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Maybe so,” the safe voice responds, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it. “Let’s just get him back to the tower before he turns into any more of a popsicle. Watch my six, will you? Precious cargo and all.”

“Of course.”

Peter hears the sound of thrusters then, and vaguely he knows he’s flying, clutched tightly in the warm metal arms. Yet waves of what he knows instinctively to be _safe_ keep washing over him, and soon he’s adrift once more.

\--

_“Luke, help me take this mask off.”_

Peter slowly comes to awareness to find his head being cradled in someone’s lap, the rest of him wrapped tightly in what feels like a mountain of blankets.

_“Now go, my son, leave me.”_  
_“No, you’re coming with me. I can't leave you here. I’ve got to save you.”_  
_“You already have, Luke. You were right about me…”_

Even barely awake, Peter knows this movie. He knows every second of it by heart. Before he can stop himself he mumbles,”tell y’r sister you w’re right...”

A small chuckle escapes the person he’s lying on top of, and he feels a rough hand smooth back his hair. He can tell from touch alone that it’s Tony.

A voice - Steve’s, he recognizes - softly asks, “Did Peter just mumble the dialogue in his sleep?”

“Sure did,” Tony replies, his voice a shade of soft that he rarely allows anyone to hear except Pepper, and more often every day, Peter.

Full awareness slams back into him, but Peter keeps his eyes closed, feeling a tiny bit mortified at embarrassing himself in front of all the Avengers like that. Now that’s he’s more awake, he can hear each of their heartbeats in the room except for Thor’s, who is off-world. 

“Be careful, Tony,” Clint says, “or you’ll find one day you’ve accidentally adopted a child. That photo was absolutely _precious_ , by the way.”

The others all laugh at that, and if he didn’t know better he’d think Natasha just let out a _coo_. 

“Shhh,” Tony chastises with a whisper. “Pipe down, you bunch of miscreants. You’ll wake him up.”

Peter notices he doesn’t directly refute Clint though, and he feels something stir deep inside of him as Tony resumes running his fingers through his hair, throwing an arm protectively over Peter’s chest.

Nothing could have prepared him for the stirring to graduate to a giant burst of affection when he hears Tony softly whisper, clearly still thinking Peter is asleep, “Joke’s on them, Pete. You’re already my kid.”


	5. Final Fake Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Tony Stark! Also, I'm really sorry about this... <3

_Drip. Drip Drip._

The first thing Peter notices upon waking is the musty scent of mold and dampness. Opening his eyes is a chore, and it’s already very clear he has yet another head wound, dried blood crusting over one eye and making his lashes stick as he pries them apart. 

He’s in some sort of cell, his arms cuffed above his head to a heavily stained cement wall. He can’t remember quite yet how he got here, but he’s dressed in just a sweatshirt and jeans, so he definitely wasn’t out as Spider-Man.

There’s a groan to his right, and he turns to find Tony beside him. He doesn’t appear to be bleeding anywhere but it’s obvious he’s not fully conscious yet, body hanging from his cuffs much like Peter was only moments before.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries, and gets another groan in reply. “Mr. Stark, wake up!”

He pulls on the cuffs as hard as he can (which, with the head wound, is maybe not his best effort) but they don’t give. _Vibranium_ , he thinks, and a frustrated sigh escapes him. 

Vibranium is a bad sign, he knows. It means whoever has them might know he’s more than just Peter Parker, “SI intern.” But he can’t count on it yet, so for now he needs to play the part of a regular teenager. 

“Mr. Stark, wake up!” he says again while trying to remember how they got here.

He’s supposed to spend the next week with the Avengers at the tower. It’s late March and also the beginning of his spring break, which happens to correspond with a business trip for May. Normally he’d go stay with Ned, but the Leeds were visiting family in the Philippines. So May asked Tony if he would take Peter, to which his mentor happily agreed.

It had been just after the last day of school before the break, and Tony had picked him up. They were driving back when suddenly a tire had blown. Tony had pulled onto a fairly empty side street, getting out to check the tire when Peter had felt the familiar warning buzz and had gotten out of the car, yelling at Tony to get down. The last thing Peter remembered was feeling a dart in his neck and seeing his mentor paw at a similar dart that had pierced his arm before Peter felt his eyes roll back and he hit the pavement, clocking his head on the curb and then…

And then he woke up here.

“Peter…”

Peter glances over to see Tony looking back at him through slitted eyes. “Mr. Stark! Are you okay?”

Tony looks around the room, then pulls on his cuffs halfheartedly. “I think so… are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Peter replies, ignoring how his temple aches at the vibration of his own voice. “I think I smacked it on the cement when I passed out from whatever was in those darts. Do you remember what happened?”

Tony slowly nods in the affirmative before his expression turns dark. “Damn it! I should have known something was off. Those tires are practically brand new.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “I should have felt something was wrong earlier.”

“Not your fault either, kid,” Tony says, tone brooking no argument. “With any luck, this is just some regular goons. Steve and the rest should be hot on our trail too, FRIDAY would have alerted them from the car.” He looks back over to Peter then and gives him a reassuring smile and a wink. “We’ll be home before dinner time, you’ll see.”

Peter nods and smiles softly back, though he doesn’t feel nearly as confident as Tony seems to be. The buzzing in his head is still ever-present, and he can’t help but be constantly on edge, waiting for the threat to reveal itself.

As if on cue, the metal door unlocks, and in come five men in dark gear with a metal cart, a man in a lab coat behind them. Peter hears Tony take in a sharp breath, and looks over to see him staring intently at the insignia on the men’s chest plates. Peter focuses on it too then, but it’s not a symbol he recognizes. A bunch of tentacles attached to a skull? 

God, he _really_ hopes this isn’t some sort of weird sex cult.

“Tony Stark, and his protege Peter Parker,” the man in the lab coat says. “You can call me Trojak. What a pleasure it is to have you join us.”

“I’d say the pleasure is all mine, but I’m afraid I never received an invitation,” Tony deadpans. “Let’s get on with it then. What the hell do you pathetic excuses for HYDRA agents want with us?”

“Just an answer to a simple question, Stark, ” Trojak replies. “Give us SHIELD’s offline server codes, and then you and the boy are free to go.”

Tony scoffs. “You think I know SHIELD’s offline server codes? I was just a consultant, and years ago now at that. Fury would never have given me server codes,” he says, sounding so honest even Peter can’t tell if he’s bluffing or not.

“Don’t pretend you need Fury’s permission to hack into SHIELD, Stark,” Trojak replies.

“Sure, into their _online_ servers. But I can’t hack into what’s not hooked up to the internet, not without physical access.”

“You’re Tony Stark, I know you have your ways. So I’ll ask you again: what are SHIELD’s offline server codes?”

“And I’ll tell you again, asshole, _I don’t know_. I’ve never known!”

Trojak’s jaw works, but he says nothing. Then he nods in Peter’s direction. “You know what to do, men.”

The five men in gear walk over to Peter, who turns to Tony, eyes wide. Tony has a similar expression on his face, and yells, “Hey! What do you want with him? I’m the one who knows who the hell you even are.”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cries, kicking out at the men. One pulls out a taser and sticks it directly into his neck. Peter screams, all his nerve endings on fire. 

“Stop! He’s just a boy!”

It feels like forever before the agony ends and Peter is left panting, his limbs weak. Distantly he feels his cuffs released from the wall, and he drops to the ground, in far too much pain to stop his fall.

“Peter? Kid?!”

Peter opens his eyes and looks over at Tony, trying to give him a small smile. 

“I’m okay, Mr. Stark. Barely even felt it,” he whispers.

“Sure, kiddo,” Tony says with not a small amount of skepticism, but the relief in his voice is palpable. He then turns back to Trojak, who is watching the whole exchange curiously. "Whatever else you want, he doesn’t have it. He’s just an intern, one of dozens. The kid doesn’t know a damn thing about SHIELD. Hell, he barely does more than get me coffee.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Stark,” Trojak replies smoothly. “We’ve been watching you for weeks - we know how much you care for the boy. Now, come along, Mr. Parker.”

Peter, still weak, can barely protest as four of the men lift him on the cart, securing the cuffs on his arms to it before putting his feet in cuffs already attached. Tony is yelling again but Peter is having trouble concentrating on what he’s saying through the rush of his heart beating in his ears. He’s scared now, _really_ scared, and instinctively he turns to the one person he knows will always save him.

But Tony looks just as wrecked as he feels, pulling on his cuffs, his wrists starting to bleed. “Stop! Take me, you bastards!”

The look of pure panic on Tony’s face scares Peter more than the cuffs or the taser or Trojak ever could, and he realizes now: whoever these men are, Tony is _terrified_ of what they might do to Peter. He wonders what they’ve done before, to put that look on his mentor’s face.

But the time for wondering about anything is over. They’re wheeling him out now, and Peter has just seconds before Tony will be out of his sight. He knows he needs to use them wisely.

He lift his head off the cart, catching Tony’s gaze and trying to convey calm, before nodding determinedly to his mentor. If this is the last time he’s with Tony, he doesn’t want him to think he was afraid. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark” he says. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see.”

“Peter…” 

The last thing he sees is Tony’s destroyed expression before he’s wheeled down no less than six hallways and into a tiled room with medical instruments laid out on various tables. 

_Oh god - what if they do in fact know about Spider-Man. Are they going to experiment on me? Dissect me?_

Trojak clears his throat, drawing Peter’s gaze back to him.

“Well, Mr. Parker, This is going to be very short and sweet,” Trojak says. “You see, we know you have no useful information for us. Why would you? You’re just a boy. What you are useful for, though, is getting Stark to talk. Make him believe we’ll kill everyone he cares about and I imagine the famed Iron Man will sing like a bird, hm?”

Any relief Peter might have felt at the “just a boy” comment is gone at the word _kill_ , but he does his best not to show his fear. If he’s going to die, he’s going to die making Tony proud. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me, Mr. Stark will _never_ tell you a thing.”

“You must learn to pay closer attention, child. I never said I was going to kill you. Why eliminate all your potential uses so quickly?” Trojak says, earning only a confused expression from Peter. He proceeds to pick up a syringe off the table, while another man pulls up the sleeve of the teen’s sweatshirt. “Anyway, it’s time to have a little fun, shall we?”

The syringe vial is filled with a mysterious pale blue substance, and Peter can feel his Spidey Sense going _crazy_ as he eyes it. He’s been trying so hard to be stoic, but now the needle is getting closer and closer to his arm and- and-

“No!” he screams, thrashing. “Don’t touch me!”

But Trojak doesn’t so much as pause, and the needle breaks through his skin. Peter feels the substance enter his veins as the man pushes on the plunger, and immediately his whole arms feels cool, and then numb. The sensation spreads outward, from his arm to his chest to his legs and other arm, and within seconds his whole body has gone limp. He closes his eyes just as he loses all ability to move. 

He feels strangely attached and yet unattached to his body. He can feel the cold metal beneath him, can hear the men shuffling around, but he can’t so much as twitch a finger. 

_Mr. Stark! MR. STARK!_ , he tries to yell, but nothing happens. He is completely trapped in his own body.

Trojak presses two fingers to his neck. “Ah yes, it’s working,” he says, and Peter refocuses on his heart beat, terrified to find it slowing down from one per second to every three seconds, then every ten, every thirty, then finally, only once a minute.

Peter doesn’t understand what’s going on. How can he still be conscious with such a slow heartbeat? Or even still alive at all? 

His breaths, too, have slowed down. His lungs are still working, but the act of taking a full breath and releasing it takes well over a minute, and is probably imperceptible to the naked eye or touch.

Finally, after a few minutes of getting used to this strange out-of-body sensation, he hears Trojak say, “Alright, uncuff him and give him a bit of a rough up. We need Stark to think he suffered.”

Peter feels them uncuff him and drag him onto the floor. One of the men lifts his head and punches him. He feels his nose crack and warm blood begins to gush from both nostrils, and he’s definitely got a bruise blossoming on his cheek. The man punches him again and again, with one of the hits re-opening the gash on his forehead from his faceplant on the curb only an hour or two earlier. The punches are followed by a couple harsh kicks to his abdomen and chest. Every hit hurts, yet Peter remains trapped, unable to so much as whimper.

“All right, that’s enough,” Trojak finally says. “Give the blood a few minutes to congeal.”

He lays on the freezing cold ground, body askew, while the men talk quietly above him. His entire head throbs, and especially his nose. He imagines he looks like he lost a bout with the Hulk, but he can’t do anything about that right now. He tries to focus instead on controlling his breathing, on moving his fingers and toes, but nothing changes.

After a while, Trojak leans down and Peter feels him turn his face from side to side. “Ready, Mr. Parker? It’s your time to shine, young man.” Then, clearly to the goons, he says, “Drag him back into Stark’s cell.”

Peter feels his arms lifted as he is dragged out of the room and down the hallways. He can hear a familiar heartbeat getting louder and he realizes now what their plan is: they’re going to give him back to Tony, and Tony is going to think he’s _dead_.

_Oh, god. Mr. Stark!_

There’s the sound of a metal door opening, and then he is dragged through and tossed on his side.

“Peter! Kid?! What have you bastards done to him?”

“I regret to say my men may have gotten a little too enthusiastic, Stark,” Trojak says with a fake sigh of regret. “I told them not to go for the head, but the boy was uncooperative and things got a bit out-of-hand. You should be grateful it was so quick - a mercy killing, really.”

Tony’s heartbeat kicks up about ten notches as the man talks, his breathing going erratic. “No. _No._ Peter, kid, c’mon, wake up buddy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Trojak asks, with no small amount of relish. “The boy is dead - ”

_“NO!”_

“-and if you don’t give us the server codes when we return, we’ll just bring in someone else you care for. How about your lovely CEO? Pepper Potts, is it?”

“ _No!_ Peter! Prove ‘em wrong, kid, _wake up!_ That’s an order!”

 _Mr. Stark!_ Peter attempts to call out, but his lips don’t so much as twitch. He tries his hardest to move, to do anything, but just as before nothing happens.

“Tell you what, Stark. Since you remain so foolishly obtuse, why don’t we let you check for yourself? Go ahead, hold the dead child for a while. Maybe it will refresh your memory.”

There’s the sounds of footsteps, then a _clink_ , and suddenly there’s familiar hands grabbing him, turning him onto his back and wrapping their arms protectively around him. The hands move to cradle his head, shaking fingers pressing hard on his pulse point.

“C’mon Pete, c’mon, wake up. _Wake up!_ ”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Do yell if you somehow manage to bring him back, yes?”

Footsteps retreat out of the room and there’s the screech of the metal door, but Peter isn’t focused on the kidnappers anymore. He’s only focused on the way Tony is laying his body out, the man close to hyperventilating.

“Okay, okay, you can do this Tones. Do it just like Rhodey showed you. C’mon, Peter. C’mon back.”

Peter feels Mr. Stark begin chest compressions right over his heart. He keeps talking to Peter the whole time, encouraging him to _come back_ and _wake up_ , though his words are intermittently broken by sobs. His pleas turn into demands, his voice getting more and more breathless as his compressions grow weaker. 

Peter, meanwhile, is in his own private hell, listening to the man he loves like a father lose all composure. Listening to him beg Peter not to be dead, while the teen remains trapped and unable to soothe his fears. Every minute or so Peter feels his heart beat of its own accord, but the lone thump is not nearly enough to draw Tony’s attention, and he misses it every time. Likewise Peter’s elongated breaths must be equally untraceable, or maybe it’s just that Tony’s clearly on the precipice of a panic attack and he’s not noticing them. Either way, there’s no doubt Peter appears very much dead, and it’s breaking him to know his mentor and father-figure is suffering so much because of it.

Peter counts ten actual heartbeats before Tony finally stops, and a wordless scream unlike any Peter has ever heard claws out of his throat. He puts his hands on Peter’s neck once more, and just as every other time misses the tell-tale beat. After about ten seconds there’s yet another sob, and Peter feels Tony’s forehead touch his chest, weak howls of grief consuming him. He lays like that for a minute or so, before gathering Peter up into his arms, his head hanging limply, and carrying him a few feet to sit against the wall. He settles the boy down across his legs, propping him up so that Peter’s head is resting in the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, his lips brushing against the man’s collarbone. Tony holds him like that, gently rocking him, small sobs slowly giving way to silence.

The quiet somehow makes Peter even more nervous. Because this strange, eerie calm emanating from the man is almost, well, _frightening_ after the pleas and panic that came before. It’s as if Mr. Stark is no longer there, or like he’s been replaced by a pod person. Has he fallen asleep? Whatever is going on, Peter knows he doesn’t like it. 

But if the silence was bad, what comes next is worse. 

Tony leans in and whispers in his ear, “You’re just faking, aren’t you Pete? You think I can’t tell, but it’s always obvious. Breathing’s all off, and you just can’t stay still to save your life.” Tony presses a kiss to his temple, an almost manic chuckle escaping from his lips. “But I guess the practice has paid off, huh kiddo? Because you’re doing a damn good job faking now. You got everyone fooled, even me. But uh, you can stop now, okay?”

_Oh god, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry._

“Peter, c’mon. Nap time’s over. You’re really scaring me now. It’s time to wake up.”

_I want to so badly, I’m sorry!_

The hands holding him shake him then, just a bit. “ _Please_ , Peter. Wake up.”

Another shake. _“Wake up, damn it!”_

Tony buries his face in Peter’s curls then, sobs tearing out of him once more, tears dripping down his face. He sounds more wrecked than Peter could have ever imagined even in his worst nightmares, and it’s breaking Peter’s heart that he’s the reason for it.

 _You getting hurt or god forbid, killed because of me is not something I’m willing to live with_ , Tony had said to him the day they argued in his bedroom, and even then it had only been a reiteration of what he’d said the day of the ferry incident. _And if you died, then that's on me. I don't need that on my conscience._

Not even a year of being in each other’s lives, and Tony had twice told Peter he couldn’t handle losing him. And now here they are, all his mentor’s fears come to life, and god, he hates that he’s causing the man so much pain right now.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Tony lifts his head up and leans his head back against the wall, taking slow, long breaths clearly trying to stave off a panic attack. Then he whispers, “You know what I regret more than anything right now, Pete? The one thing, in a lifetime of massive, irrevocable fuck-ups? It’s the day I knocked on your door, kid.”

A hitched breath, and Tony leans over again, kissing Peter’s hair before continuing, voice thick and thready. He sounds less as if he’s talking to Peter now, and more just giving voice to his tormented thoughts.

“You see, everyone I let get close… sooner or later, they all find themselves in trouble. Hap, Pep, Rhodey - they’ve all nearly died on my watch, because of me. And now, now it’s _you_. The kindest, bravest, strongest person I’ve ever met." Another head kiss, a deep breath into his curls. "God, I love you, Peter. I love you _so damn much_. I should have told you that before. I should have told you that every damn day since I first thought it. Peter. _Peter_. Oh god. What have I _done_?”

_I’m right here, Mr. Stark. I’m right here!_

“God, no, please. _Please_ not him... this is all my fault, _god_.”

_Mr. Stark, please don’t say that. It’s not true. It’s NOT true. If only I could move and show you-_

As if his body could read his thoughts, he feels his heartbeat jump out of pace with its minute-long silences. Peter’s mind leaps with joy. It’s not much, he knows, but it’s a start, and probably way ahead of schedule, what with his enhanced metabolism. Maybe he’ll be able to move soon, and he could alert Tony-

But of course just then the metal door shrieks, followed by several men entering. 

“I hope you said your goodbyes, Stark,” Trojak says. “Now it’s time for you to give us the codes, and for us to take that pitiful corpse away.”

Tony’s hold on Peter tightens as he viciously snarls, “Don’t you _dare_ touch him.”

“This isn’t a negotiation,” Trojak responds, and then there are hands grabbing at Peter, pulling him away from his mentor’s arms. Tony tries to fight them off but Peter hears the sound of the taser and some painful grunts, and his mentor’s hold on him releases. Peter is dragged across the floor and out into the hallway, a garbled “No, Peter!” the last thing he hears before the door closes behind him.

He doesn’t know how far away they take him before he is dragged through another door and deposited on the floor. 

“Should we cuff him again?”

“Nah, the boss said it’d be hours before he can so much as twitch. Just leave him,” and the two pairs of footsteps leave, closing the room’s door behind them.

He lays there like that for at least ten or twenty more minutes, but slowly - very slowly - he feels his body coming back online. First it’s his heartbeat, which steadily increases from roughly two beats a minute to one every ten seconds or so, steadily picking up its pace. His breaths also start to come quicker, and sure enough the numbness in his body begins to fade, starting with his fingers and eyelids and spreading to his torso. After a while he is able to open his eyes and look around. He’s back in the tiled room, all alone. Carefully, he drags himself along the floor until he gets to the wall, leaning against it until he’s standing up.

Now that he’s not preoccupied with being trapped in his own body, he finds his head is still _really_ hurting. Peter gingerly prods at his face, crusted blood flaking off like bits of ash. A low moan escapes him as he shakes his head in an effort to clear it, waiting until his vision steadies before pushing off from the wall.

He grabs the sharpest instrument from a lab table by the medical cart he was laid out on earlier, stumbling toward the entrance. He has no plan, and he’s still very weak, but it doesn’t matter. None of that matters, because Tony is still back there with those HYDRA assholes, and Peter isn’t going to let them hurt his mentor any more than they already have. Because Peter always helps when there’s someone that needs saving, and _especially_ when the someone who needs saving is someone he loves.

Armed if not totally ready, he crashes through the door, ready to fight whoever he has to in order to get back to Tony. Immediately he finds hands grabbing his shoulders, and he lifts his arm, ready to plunge the instrument in the person’s side when -

“Whoa, Peter, stand down!”

Peter blinks once, twice, to find Captain America’s face in front of him. “Steve?” he asks.

Steve smiles gently. “In the flesh, kid. We came for you and Tony,” then with a gesture to Peter’s face, adds, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just my head, mostly,” Peter replies, “but listen, there’s something else you should-”

Just then Steve’s comm crackles, and Peter’s super-hearing picks up Rhodey in the Captain’s ear, voice grave. “Steve, Nat and I secured Tony. He’s roughed up but mostly unhurt, and the damn cowards all swallowed capsules before we even got in the room. But, Cap, listen… Tony won’t stop panicking about needing to find the kid and wake him up and… god, I hate to have to say this, but I think Peter might be _dead_.”

Steve looks sharply up at Peter then, eyes suspicious. “One moment, Rhodes.”

He turns off his comm then, and faces Peter directly. “If you’re Peter, then what’s the one thing I never put on my pizza?”

“Green peppers,” Peter replies promptly. “For some reason you’ll eat red peppers on your pizza, but never green ones. Something about the color makes you queasy. But you will eat pineapple on them, which makes no sense-”

“Rhodes, you copy?”

“I’m here, Cap.”

“I got some good news. Peter’s not dead. I got him right here with me. I checked, and it’s definitely him.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Steve and Peter stare at each other expectantly, waiting for a response. Then another few crackles, and Peter can distinctly hear Tony yelling something in the background, followed by Rhodey saying, “ _Cap_. I need you to confirm, Cap. You said you’re with Peter and that he is in fact alive, correct?”

“Affirmative, Rhodes. Tell Tony the kid’s safe. We’ll meet you at the quinjet. Over.”

He turns his comm off, then motions to Peter. “Let’s go, Pete. I gotta feeling Tony won’t want to-”

“Wait!” Peter cries, doing a 180 and running back into the tiled room, Steve watching him curiously. He glances around the various tables before he spots a near-empty syringe. He breaks off the needle and stashes the vial in his pocket before running back out. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Together they race down the hallways, Peter following close behind Steve. But the longer they run, the more Peter finds his vision going in and out, his steps faltering. The throbbing in his head grows and once again, he thinks how he must have taken a bigger beating than he realized. “S-steve,” he whispers, voice just loud enough to catch the man’s attention. The Captain abruptly stops in his tracks and turns, Peter almost running straight into his chest before listing to the side. 

“Whoa, steady Pete-”

The last thing Peter sees are Steve’s wide, worried eyes before he succumbs to the darkness.

\--

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Peter opens his eyes to the ceiling of a tower medbay room. The first thing he notices is the now-familiar weight of bandages wrapped around his head. The second thing is Mr. Stark, sitting in a chair next to his bed, eyes wide and red-rimmed and staring at Peter like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Hey, M’ssr Star’,” he says, smiling. Well, hopefully smiling - he’s still pretty woozy. 

His grin however, falters when Tony’s eyes fill with tears and he drops his head down onto the bed, body violently shaking with silent sobs. 

Carefully, Peter lifts a hand and lays it gently on the back of Mr. Stark’s head. “Hey, Mr. Stark, it’s okay. I’m okay, see? It was just like, some sort of poison or something. Just a trick, not real, see?”

After a minute or two, Tony lifts his head slightly and gives Peter a watery smile. “Yeah, kid, I know. I just needed to see those baby browns of yours before I could really let myself believe it.”

He gently pulls Peter’s hand off his head then and holds it tightly in one of his own while wiping his tears away with the other. “I hate to ask this for what feels like the millionth time since we met, Pete, but how’s your head? You took some pretty nasty hits. Cho says you’re lucky you didn’t come away with worse.”

“S’okay, I think,” Peter responds. “I feel dizzy still, but it’s not hurting like it was.”

“Good, good. She thought it would heal up mostly on its own,” Tony says with obvious relief, a genuine grin on his face. "You sure gave Cap a good scare there, by the way. Thought he was about to deliver a healthy, live kid to me, and then here he is carrying you out of that godforsaken bunker like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. Have you ever heard Captain America blubber? It’s very startling, to say the least.”

Peter tries to laugh at the lame joke, but he can only muster a weak smile. “How long ago did we get back? Did you guys figure out what they did to me?”

“About an hour, and yes we did, all thanks to you. Steve pulled the syringe out of your pocket the moment we landed and gave it to Bruce. The doc didn’t even have to finish analyzing it before he guessed what it was. You just missed him in fact, he was in here apologizing all over the place.”

“Apologizing? What for?”

“Because the formula was his own creation - a substance called Tetrodotoxin B. Apparently he concocted it years ago when he was still trying to figure out a way to contain the Hulk. It was meant to be a relaxer, to prevent him from making the switch. Turns out it wasn’t much help for his little green problem, but SHIELD saw a potential use and kept it in storage. Steve even told us it's what Nick Fury used in ‘14 to fake his own death. Not sure when HYDRA got their hands on some, but it was probably around the same time.”

“So it’s essentially what, an extreme neurotoxin?”

“You got it in one, kiddo. It slowed your system way down to-”

“One heartbeat per minute,” Peter said solemnly, interrupting Tony, who looked at him with a curious expression.

“Yeah, that’s what Bruce speculated. How’d you know that?”

“Because I was awake for all of it.”

“You were awake?” Tony repeats, looking stricken.

“Yeah, I don’t know how, maybe my powers? But it didn’t knock me out. It was like I was… trapped. I couldn’t move or do or say anything,” Peter explains quietly, biting his lip at the memory of being so helpless.

“Wow, kid,” Tony says, sitting back and rubbing his mouth. “That’s awful. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It wasn’t all that bad, just weird,” Peter responds. “But, uh, I am sorry too. For what you had to go through too, I mean. Y’know… for thinking I was dead, and everything.”

Tony takes a deep breath at that, looking up at the ceiling for a few beats before pinning his gaze back on Peter. “Listen kid, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, something I should have said a while ago. But I was too much of a coward and you know I’m not big into emotional talks and especially when it comes to discussing _my_ feelings in particular-”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark, I love you too. And, I’m also sorry I didn’t say it a long time ago.”

Tony’s jaw drops, his expression morphing into a look of wide-eyed wonder as he takes in Pete’s declaration. He looks back to the ceiling, throwing his hands up and shaking his head fondly, before he stands and leans over the bed. His eyes are glistening as he cups Peter’s face carefully between his hands, kissing first one cheek, then the other, and finally his forehead. Finally he leans right in so Tony’s nose is only inches from Peter’s healing one.

“You’ve told me in a million ways already, Pete. There’s no need to apologize. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t say it before now either. Because I do, kid. I love you. So much that it kinda scares me.”

He sits back down, swiping at his eyes before pointing a finger at Peter, pretending to be stern. “And for the record, you’re not allowed to die until you’re at least 103. Iron Man’s orders.”

Peter laughs. “Okay, Mr. Stark. But only if you agree not to die til you’re an old man too. Or well, an _older_ man.”

“Hey, you better be nice to me from now on if you want to keep your inheritance. Don’t think I won’t toss you out of my will just as easily as I added you in, kid.”

Peter rolls his eyes, then puts out a hand. “No dying til we’re super old and wrinkled. Deal?”

Tony also rolls his eyes dramatically, but he reaches for the offered hand with a smile. “It’s a deal,” he says, grasping Peter’s hand solidly and shaking it. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought.

“Oh, by the way,” Peter finally says, smirking, “I have _totally_ fooled you into thinking I was asleep before.”

“Kid, you only think that because I _let_ you think that.”


	6. Not a Fake Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’re already to the last chapter! This has been such a fun story to write and to share with you all these past few weeks. So fun in fact, that I’ve decided to continue to write stories in this little AU of mine. It’s called the [heart and nerve and sinew](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1377385) series (name taken from the poem [If---](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46473/if---) by Rudyard Kipling). Please do subscribe if you’d like to read more in this ‘verse.
> 
> More notes and thank yous at the end <3

It had been weeks since the incident with HYDRA, but Tony is still finding it hard to let Peter out of his sight. The kid is more than understanding, answering all of Tony’s text and phone calls, coming over a few extra evenings a week, and not complaining when Tony connects to his suit every time his vitals so much as hiccup on patrol.

What Peter doesn’t know is that when Tony isn’t worrying, he’s been busy trying to plan a little shindig in honor of the kid. Sure, his seventeenth birthday isn’t for four months, but when did Tony Stark ever need a reason to host a party?

The problem is that if he so much as hinted at it, Peter would tell him to do no such thing, that he isn’t worth the effort. Which is bullshit, of course, but Tony knows it won’t stop the kid from making it clear Tony is absolutely _not_ allowed to throw a party for him.

So, naturally, the whole thing has to be a surprise.

It was hard to find a day that worked for everyone. Nat, Clint, and Steve had disappeared for weeks on a SHIELD mission; Tony suspected it was related to the kidnapping, but he didn’t ask and they didn’t share. It also wasn’t unusual for May or Pepper to get swamped with sudden workloads and have to regretfully decline get-togethers. Yet Tony persisted, and the entire group was finally able to settle on a Friday afternoon in mid-April. When the day finally came, Tony left the others behind to set up the decorations while he grabbed the kid from school.

It’s obvious something is a bit _off_ from the moment the kid gets into the car. “Hi Mr. Stark,” Peter greets him, little enthusiasm in his voice.

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, pulling away from the curb and into traffic. “How was school?”

“Oh, fine,” Peter replies, staring out the windshield listlessly. They come to a red light and Tony glances over, taking the kid in. As far as he can tell there are no injuries lurking underneath the Peter’s jeans and gray t-shirt, and his face isn’t red or puffy, so he hasn’t been crying.

About the only thing that seems truly unusual are the large, dark bags under the kid’s eyes, which immediately set Tony’s spider-kid alarm bells ringing. Just then Peter lets out an absolutely _massive_ yawn, and those bells are suddenly clanging like it’s Sunday Mass.

“You okay there, squirt?” Tony asks as casually as possible, the car slowly inching closer to the tower. “The thermoregulation isn’t still giving you trouble, is it? I can ask Dr. Cho to run some tests this weekend if-”

“No, no, that’s all better now,” Peter says tiredly, before letting out a deep sigh. “Sorry, Mr. Stark, I just didn’t get much sleep last night and I guess I’m really starting to feel it.”

“By _didn’t get much sleep_ do you mean ‘completed at least a full REM cycle’ or ‘my bed has been cold for going on 36 hours’?”

“More like, the latter?”

“ _Pete_. Are you being serious? Why didn’t you sleep last night?” Tony asks, then narrows his eyes. “You haven’t been breaking curfew again, have you? Because if so-”

“No, of course not! I was home by eleven like always. But the major AP Chem exam was today, and I, uh, kinda forgot about it til I got home? So I stayed up and studied and just, like, ran out of time to sleep.”

Well, that isn’t so bad, Tony supposes. But it isn’t great either, and he lets out a low huff. “Kid, you know the rule: schoolwork comes before Spider-Manning. You can’t go out patrolling if you haven’t finished your studies.”

“I _know_ that, Mr. Stark! And usually I’m way more on top of things, I just forgot, I swear. It’s just one time, so _please_ don’t tell May,” Peter pleads before pulling out the big guns and giving Tony his ridiculously charming, ridiculously unfair, ridiculously _stupid_ puppy dog eyes.

Tony turns his gaze back to the road before he can get fully sucked in.

Puppy dog eyes notwithstanding, on a regular day Tony wouldn’t be quite so quick to let this go without at least some further discussion. But today is supposed to be about making Peter feel special, not chastising him.

They’re just pulling into the underground tower garage when Tony finally says, “Okay, kid, I won’t tell May. But if it happens again I won’t have a choice, you got it?”

“Okay, yeah, of course, no problem!” Peter replies with a grin, climbing out of the car. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“No problem, kiddo,” Tony says, climbing out himself before leaning over the car’s roof. "Now that we’re here, there’s actually something I need to tell you. I have a bit of a surprise for you tonight.” Peter twists around to look at him, eyes wide. Tony starts walking across the garage, motioning for the kid to follow. “First though, I have to grab something from the penthouse. Go to your room and wait for me there, all right? And don’t make any pit stops, or you’ll have FRI to answer to.”

“Uh, okay,” Peter says, somehow managing to look confused, curious and excited all at the same time. “Sure thing, Mr. Stark. Straight to my room, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Got it.”

Tony rolls his eyes as they enter the elevator. “We gotta work on your snark skills, kid.”

“Says the man wearing the super punny t-shirt,” Peter replies, pointing at Tony’s graphic tee.

“That _you_ got me for Christmas,” Tony says, pointing back at him. “Just go to your room before I decide to take back the surprise, all right?”

Peter laughs as the elevator opens, disappearing with a wave while Tony continues up one more floor to the penthouse level, heading for his and Pepper’s bedroom suite. For what he has planned, Peter is going to need something a bit more formal than the gray t-shirt he's currently sporting. It takes Tony about fifteen minutes of rummaging around his giant closet before he selects a simple, small tan suit coat he hasn’t worn in quite some years and hurries back to the elevator.

As he nears Peter’s bedroom door, he asks, “FRIDAY, is the kid where I told him to be?”

“Yes boss, but you should know -”

Tony opens the door without knocking, knowing it’ll annoy the teen. “Okay kid, I got something...”

Where Tony had expected to find Peter waiting impatiently at his desk to find out what the surprise is, he instead finds the spiderling sprawled across his bed. He’s flat on his back, limbs askew, and snoring deeply into a pillow that’s laying on top of his face.

“...for you to wear,” Tony finishes lamely, stepping farther in and laying the suit coat over the back of the kid’s desk chair. “FRIDAY, how long has he been like this?”

“Pretty much since he came in about twenty minutes ago, boss,” FRIDAY says quietly.

“You really weren't kidding about being tired, huh kiddo?” Tony says with a smirk, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed just as Peter lets out another soft snore. He leans over, gently lifting the pillow from the teen’s face and placing it against the headboard. The kid's face scrunches up at the movement, head turning toward Tony as one of his arms reaches out and flops over the man’s own, a bit of drool escaping his mouth. Tony huffs out a quiet laugh at the sight. “Sorry kid, I draw the line at cleaning up your spit.”

He moves to stand up, about to gently shake the kid awake, when he feels a tug and sees the kid’s hand is wrapped around his bicep. He gently grasps his wrist to rest it back down again when -

“Seriously, Peter?” Tony whispers, looking down at where the kid’s hand has literally stuck itself to Tony’s patterned suit coat. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Tony weighs his options. On one hand, everyone is waiting downstairs for the two of them to arrive. On the other, the kid clearly needs some rest if he’s so out of it that he’s _sticking_ to things in his sleep. Things like _Tony_ , at that (and okay, sure, if Tony secretly thinks that’s pretty freakin’ adorable, well sue him. He may be Iron Man but when faced with Peter Parker’s adorableness he’s a mere mortal, just like the rest of the universe.)

It was never even a contest, Tony realizes with a sigh. Not really.

“FRI,” Tony asks quietly, “let everyone in the fiftieth floor conference room know we’re going to be late. If anyone complains, tell them they’ll be receiving future blackmail material in the form of a very humiliating sleepy spider-baby chat photo soon enough.”

“Sure thing, boss,” FRIDAY answers in a low tone.

Very carefully Tony lays down next to the slumbering teen, noting how even in his sleep Peter is still ludicrously polite, twisting onto his side as if to make room before wrapping a leg over Tony's knees and clinging like a baby sloth. Tony slides his free arm underneath the kid’s neck, Peter’s hand still hopelessly stuck to the other one. The teen sleepily burrows his head into the crook of Tony’s armpit, and Tony notes with slight disgust that the drool is now quickly migrating toward his shirt. “The things I do for you, kiddo,” Tony whispers fondly, kissing his forehead just as the teen lets out another soft snore. “I love you, Peter.”

It will probably never stop surprising Tony, how easy it is to tell the kid he loves him now. It floors him even more how fiercely he means it. He wonders if it will ever stop amazing him, how easy it is to love Peter Parker.

Tony is just drifting off when FRIDAY asks gently, “Boss, Miss Potts is inquiring if she should put the cake back in the freezer?”

Tony smiles, thinking of the custom cake he had ordered for the party. _CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR INTERNSHIP, PETER!_ it reads in red, with tiny black decorative spiders dotted all over the white icing.

Because sure, Tony Stark _can_ host a party for no reason at all. But the kid had been hinting at wanting to make the internship official for months. So if it soothes the kid’s conscience to make the party about that, all the better. Tony had even printed and framed an official certificate, one Peter could show off to all his friends and _especially_ that little asshole Flash.

“Tell Pep they might as well put it away for the time being,” he quietly replies with a yawn before smiling softly when Peter mumbles something in his sleep. He can feel himself drifting off, the warmth of their shared body heat making his eyes grow heavy. “Better snap a pic and send that too. Just to pacify ‘em.”

“Will do, boss,” FRIDAY responds.

Not even thirty seconds later, FRIDAY softly says, “Boss, Mrs. Parker has responded to the texted image. She wrote _red heart emoji twinkling pink heart emoji heart eyes face emoji_.”

Then, “Mr. Barton has responded to the texted image. He wrote _That’s it, the adoption is now official. Tony is a full-on dad to a whole-ass child. Never thought I’d see the day_.”

Then, “Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rhodes, Mr. Rogers and Miss Potts ‘liked’ Mr. Barton’s response.”

Then, “Miss Romanoff has responded to the texted image. She wrote _Awww is that a drool spot on your shirt, Stark? FRIDAY, order Tony some spider-baby burp cloths._ ” FRIDAY pauses. “Boss, would you like me to place an order for bur-”

Tony opens his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. “An emphatic no, FRI. But do text back the middle finger emoji. I’ll read any no-doubt idiotic responses later.”

“On it, boss.”

Tony plants a second kiss in the kid’s curls before closing his eyes again. He may put up a mock protest but he doesn't mind the team's teasing, not really. Because Peter is here with him, safe and warm and finally, Tony approvingly notes just before drifting off, getting some _actual_ rest.

For once, everything is right in his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, the gorgeous artwork in this chapter is by the truly incredible [emkayohh](https://emkayohh.tumblr.com/). Thank you thank you thank you for agreeing to take on my rush request - your talent is unbelievable and this commission turned out better than I could have ever hoped for! She made this in ONE DAY, you guys. Seriously, check out her blog, it’s full of even more amazingness.
> 
> Another huge thank you to my hype woman [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/) for being my emotional support writing buddy as I made my way through these chapters. She’s the sole reason this story wasn’t just a short one-shot, so if you enjoyed any of this, it’s really her you have to thank! Also please go read her fics, she’s an absolutely incredible writer in her own right <3
> 
> Credit to @lovethedanielhd on tumblr for creating [this comic](https://lovethedanielhd.tumblr.com/post/185040013388/this-is-canon-not-gonna-lie), which served as inspiration for the mention of Peter’s Christmas gift to Tony in this chapter and is now my personal headcanon.
> 
> Finally, thank you to each and every one of you who read, left kudos, and commented on this work. And if you haven’t left a comment yet, I’d really love to hear what you think now that it’s all done <3<3<3
> 
> See you all next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


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